


Swept off your feet

by blakefancier



Series: For Your Entertainment [5]
Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Howard's relationship progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swept off your feet

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize to Lord Falsworth/Union Jack fans. The scene wasn’t supposed to go like that and then it did. I will totally make it up to you later. Somehow. I'm sorry!

Howard gives himself a good talking to before Steve comes over the next night. He's a Stark, for God's sake, not some air-headed sub who follows the first Dom who snaps their fingers. He'll pose for Steve, because he said he would, but he's going to keep his jacket and tie on, and his shirt buttoned.

When Steve walks into the room, without knocking, Howard opens his mouth to berate him. Only… Only the words die in his throat as Steve walks over and stares into his eyes.

"You don't know how much I appreciate this, Howard. All the other guys drink or fight or… or find themselves a girl to... you know with when they need to let off some steam, but I… None of those things really appeal to me." Steve taps his portfolio. "This helps me unwind. Thank you."

And Steve's so damn earnest that Howard feels some unnamed emotion flutter in his stomach. He looks away, though he knows he's not supposed to and manages a faint, "Anything I can do to help."

Steve gently grips him by the chin and turns his head. "Look at me, Howard. You're a great model."

Howard doesn't preen because—he reminds himself harshly—that's such a stupid compliment. Steve might as well say that he does a great job at sitting still and looking pretty. And he's just about to say that, when Steve's fingers caress his chin before letting him go. He flushes, his breath hitching in his throat.

Steve smiles then, open and happy and looking like Howard is his best friend and what can Howard do but smile back dumbly, feeling hot and nervous.

Feeling grateful that Steve wants to smile at him like that.

He's off balance again, the way he's always off-balance when Steve comes into the room. And when Steve reaches up and gently tugs on his tie and says, softly, "Let me help you get that off," Howard just nods, blushes, and lifts his chin.

*****

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Back home, he was afforded some measure of safety: he was rich enough, powerful enough that anyone below his station, Dom or not, wouldn't dare touch him. As for the Elites, well, there were rules about playing with those of your station, certain permissions had to be granted and by pulling out of society, he had made it clear those permissions would never be given.

But he wasn't in America now and the rules the English played by were different.

That's how he ends up pushed face first against one of the worktables in the lab with Lord Falsworth's erection pressed firmly against his ass. His face is red, hands pressed against the rough wood of the table, and his head is swimming with the conflicting desires: anger and humiliation war with an arousal so strong his erection throbs painfully.

He looks up to see if anyone is going to say anything, if anyone is going to help, and his heart sinks. All their eyes are either averted in discomfort or focused on their work. No one wants to interfere with the games that the rich play. He wants to shout _I'm not a sub, dammit! I'm not!_ but he knows that anything he says right now would come out softly trembling and weak. At that moment, he hates himself for being everything his father said he was.

Falsworth slides a hand around to cup him and Howard jerks, moaning furiously.

"Damn it!" He blinks frantically at the sweat stinging his eyes and tries to kick back. "I'm not—"

"You're hard. Howard." Falsworth squeezes and Howard lets out a choked moan. And of course the bastard doesn't use his surname. "We've all heard about you, Howard. The Elite who refuses his place in society; it's utterly ridiculous. We'd never stand for that sort of thing here."

"Let me go!" He lurches forward, then forces his body to go limp. With his face hot with embarrassment, he says, "Please. Lord Falsworth, I'm saying no!"

Falsworth immediately takes a step back, giving Howard enough room to stand and turn, then presses forward again. "I think all you need is a good Dom."

Howard's breathing hard, hands clenched into fists and he can't stop shaking, can't stop wanting to lean into Falsworth's body. He wonders what would happen if he took a swing or tried to knee Falsworth in the balls. Would he end up face first on the table again? "I'm not a submissive!"

Falsworth laughs, then says, abruptly, "Lift your chin!"

Howard jerks and fights his body's inclination to obey. "I won't."

Something in Falsworth's eyes darkens and Howard's breath stutters and catches on the fear welling up inside of him. He knows that look, he does, he does, he does.

Then he hears a familiar voice call out from across the room, "Oh, Howard, there you are!" Steve strides over to them, smiling, a tray of food in one hand, a cup in the other.

Howard slumps with relief; his body is bathed in sweat.

Steve sets the tray and the cup on the table and lays a hand on the back of Howard's neck; Howard leans into the touch, shivering. "Everything all right here?" he asks in an easy drawl. There's nothing dangerous about it, no edge to Steve's words, no threat, but Falsworth's body language eases.

"Fine." Falsworth gives Steve a puzzled sort of look, as if trying to figure out how he fits into the equation.

"Then give Howard some space, will ya!" Steve chuckles softly and lightly pushes at Falsworth's shoulder. "I thought you had a sparring session with Bucky this afternoon?"

Falsworth takes a few steps back, his eyes narrowing slightly when Steve begins to gently rub the nape of Howard's neck. "Ah, yes, I do. It must have slipped my mind."

"It'll only be worse if you're late." Steve gently squeezes Howard's neck, as if to reassure him.

"Right." He looks from Howard to Steve, then back again. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize, Cap."

"You should check your watch every once in awhile." Steve says it with such nonchalance that Howard isn't sure if he's misunderstanding on purpose or not.

Neither does Falsworth, apparently. "I should go," he says, then beats a hasty retreat.

When he's gone, Steve drops his hand from Howard's neck and frowns. "Are you all right?"

Howard smiles wanly and collapses onto a stool. "Of course."

"James is a nice guy, but he's got really strict views on… social roles." Steve sighs, then smiles at Howard. He gestures to the food and… oh, coffee. "Thought you could use a break. I bet you haven't eaten anything since this morning."

Howard's stomach growls at that and he blushes. "I've been busy."

"You're always busy." Steve gently slaps Howard's shoulder. "But you'll make yourself sick if you don't eat. Nobody wants that. I need my model in good working order. We're still on for tonight, aren't we?"

Howard nods, reaching for the coffee, his hands still trembling slightly. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

*****

Howard is already tieless and in his shirtsleeves when Steve comes in the room. He leaves his shirt buttoned though, because it feels like undressing otherwise.

Steve smiles at him, but then, Steve always smiles at him. And he smiles back.

Always.

"Lift your chin," Steve says, and Howard complies. "Thank you."

Howard swallows hard and stares at a dark spot on the ceiling as Steve slowly undoes the first two buttons on his shirt.

"I'd like to unbutton two more, if you don't mind."

His skin prickles at the thought of it and he reminds himself, sternly, that Steve is requesting and not commanding. "All right."

"Thank you," Steve says again, and flicks open the buttons. "You can look at me now, Howard."

He doesn't want to because he does want to—No, that doesn’t make any sense. That's not *logical*. He lowers his chin and looks at Steve.

"Can I lower your suspenders?"

Howard nods, then clears his throat. "Yes."

Steve hooks his fingers under them, rubbing the fabric for a moment, before sliding then down Howard's shoulders. "Better."

He flushes and tries to cross his arms over his chest, feeling strangely vulnerable. But Steve lays his hands on Howard's forearms and shakes his head.

"No. No, sit down now."

Howard settles into the chair, feeling tense… jumpy.

Steve looks down at him, head tilted, frowning. "Something's not right," he says and crouches to get a different angle.

Howard lays his hands on his thighs, drumming his fingers.

"Ah." Steve smiles and puts a hand on Howard's knee. "Spread your legs."

Howard doesn't mean to gasp, but the sound seems to fill the whole room. He stares down at Steve, feeling as if he's just received an electrical shock and doesn’t know quite what to do next.

"You don't have to, Howard." Steve's hand is still on Howard's knee, but he's not spreading Howard wide. He's not forcing the issue and it's not as if Howard is… Howard is clothed. "I just think it'll make a better picture. You can say no."

And Steve means it. Of course he means it. Howard can say no and Steve will let it go. There won't be any repercussions, except for Steve's art.

Which Steve loves, which keeps him sane and happy.

Howard feels his face heat as he spread his legs. Not that he has anything to worry about; Steve's eyes don't leave his, not for a moment.

Steve grins, reaches up, and touches Howard's face. "Perfect. Just perfect."

There's a tight feeling in Howard's chest and he wishes he could look away. He almost does, but then Steve rises to his feet and gathers up his paper and pencils.

Neither of them says anything for the first half hour and Howard is glad because he needs time to think. He can't do that with Steve murmuring instructions at him.

Then suddenly, Steve sets down his pencil and looks up at him. "I told Falsworth to leave you alone. He won't bother you again."

"Thanks," he says, a little surprised. "You didn't have to, I could—" Except that he hadn't.

"He's under my command, so I did." Steve gives a crooked smile. "I know what it's like Howard, to be bullied because of who you are."

"I'm not a submissive," he says, curling his hands into fists.

"Would it matter if you were?"

"Yes! Yes, it matters!" He practically jumps to his feet, nervous energy rushing back through him. "Submissives are weak. They're… they're less."

"I don’t believe that. And I'm a little surprised that you do, Howard. Giving yourself to someone, trusting someone with your… your body and your mind, giving up control, that takes real strength. I couldn't do it."

"Well, not everyone sees it that way."

"So what? Who cares what they think? Back in Brooklyn, guys thought they could push me around. They thought that because I was small that meant I was weak. But I knew I wasn't, Howard. I was never weak. In the end, that's what mattered. That's what got me here."

Howard looks away. "It's not the same."

"That's what you say." Steve gets to his feet and gathers up his materials. "I should go."

He crosses his arms over his chest and fights the urge to stop Steve from leaving. "Yeah."

"Good night, Howard."

Howard can see Steve turn to go out of the corner of his eye. He clears his throat to catch Steve's attention. "Will you be back tomorrow?"

God, he's pathetic. Why is he so pathetic?

Steve looks over his shoulder. "Do you want me to come back?"

"You're leaving at the end of the week. You should have as much downtime as you can."

"That wasn’t an answer, Howard." Then Steve says, softly, "Look at me."

Howard lifts his eyes to Steve's. "Yes."

"Okay, I'll be by at seven sharp, like usual."

When Steve is gone, Howard slumps into a chair, buries his face in his hands, and shakes.

*****

Howard's a mess the next night; his nerves jangle with energy and he can't keep still. He moves from chair to desk to bedroom, picking up a pencil, putting down, pouring himself a drink, only to change his mind a moment later.

When the door opens, he stills, his body practically vibrating with the pent up tension. He watches Steve put down his paper and pencils on the table, before slowly moving in Howard's direction.

Howard clenches his jaw, but then Steve smiles at him and reaches over to loosen his tie; he releases a huff of air. Tension eases out of him as he's… he's made ready for Steve's art. He's loose and pliant when Steve guides him to a chair and nudges his legs apart. Only when he's perfect does Steve smile.

"Fantastic," he says, tilting Howard's head just so and it feels so good to hear those words; it's like standing before a fire on a blustery winter's day. "Just like that, Howard. Don't move."

And he doesn't move, not until Steve tells him to and it's like that first uncomplicated night. He feels heavy with something like satisfaction; he sighs and sinks into it, knowing Steve will pull him out if he's needed.

*****

The day before Steve and the Howling Commandos ship out, they have lunch together.

"I want you to do something for me," Steve says, briefly touching the back of Howard's hand, making his pulse race.

"Of course," he replies eagerly, curling his fingers to keep from grasping Steve's fingers. "Anything."

"You and Peggy… Watch out for each other, okay? It makes me feel better knowing that you two got each other to lean on when I'm gone."

He blinks, surprised. "We do. We will."

Steve smiles and brushes his thumb against Howard's knuckles. Howard takes a sip of coffee to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.


End file.
